


Halloween

by CreepyGhostQueen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Vampire Sherlock, Vampires, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-18 21:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1443631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreepyGhostQueen/pseuds/CreepyGhostQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween has never been Sherlocks forte but when John convinces him to go out trick-or-treating, Sherlock gets bit and strange things begin to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halloween

It's Halloween!   
It's Halloween!  
The moon is full and bright  
And we shall see what can't be seen   
On any other night.  
Skeletons and ghosts and ghouls,   
Grinning goblins fighting duels,   
Werewolves rising from their tombs,   
Witches on their magic brooms.  
In masks and gowns,   
We haunt the street.   
And knock on doors,   
For trick or treat.  
Tonight we are  
The king and queen,   
For oh tonight,   
It's Halloween

 

~Jack Prelutsky

There was a loud knock on the door of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock ignored it, focusing his attention back onto the microscope where he examained a tissue sample from his own arm. The knocking was replaced by the repeated buzz of the doorbell Sherlock had shoved in the refrigerator. Below Mrs. Hudson's excited screams were muffled. She raced upstairs with a face full of joy. "It's not for me." She laughed. 

"I'm busy." Sherlock muttered. 

"Oh Sherlock come on."

Sherlock slipped off his bright yellow gloves and set them besides the microscope. With heavy footsteps he made his way down the stairs and to the door. There was another knock and he opened it. Standing outside was John. His face was painted green with red sloptches, his clothes were torn and blood stained and he wore only one shoe. "Trick-or-treat" John laughed. 

"You have a key." Sherlock retreated back upstairs, unamused by his friend shinanegains. 

John followed him up. "It's halloween!" 

"What about it?" Sherlock shoved his eyes back into the microscope. 

"Is that a foot on the table?"

"It's for science John."

"Anyway, halloween!"

"Yes I heard you, what about it?"

"Where's your costume?"

"Yours is hardly a costume."

"Sherlock!" John crossed his arms. "I made it myself."

"In that case it is just horrible." 

"Sherlock it's halloween!"

"It's halloween, it's halloween!" He mimicked Johns words. "What about it?"

"Don't you remember dressing up as a child and going door to door asking for candy?" Sherlock was silent. "Don't tell me you've never gone trick or treating?" 

"Never found it amusing, children in costumes begging for treats."

"We need to make you a costume!" John grabbed his wrist and pulled Sherlock away from his lab and into his room. 

"John I am not taking part in this."

"Come on Sherlock. Once. For me?" 

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "Once, but you owe me."

"Deal." He laughed. John dug through Sherlocks wardrobe, looking for clothes that Sherlock hardly wire anymore. "Mrs. Hudson!" John shouted, a plan racing through his mind as he raced to her, leaving Sherlock sitting on the bed. 

Halloween had never been good for Sherlock. His parents had always been busy at nights and Mycroft was never interested. Sherlock would hand out candy to the neighboring children who would laugh at him for being so plainly dressed. Eventually he gave up on the candy, shutting all the lights off and hiding in his bedroom. 

John returned with a smile on his face. "I know what to do." He pulled out a pair of black pants and began cutting them with scissors. 

"John what are you-"

"Trust me please."

Sherlock let John continue destroying his clothes. "May I go back into the kitchen?"

"For now."

He returned to his safe haven and examained his own blood once more. It was still alive, flowing it's way in the preserved tissue, keeping it alive. He couldn't relax however. The agony that halloween had caused him in the past was not something he wanted to relive now with or without John. He would do it however, for science, of course. 

John stood near the kitchen with a cocky smile plastered across his face. "I've got a costume for you." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes but grabbed the pile of sliced up garments John held. He brought them into the bathroom and slide into them. The pants were sliced into shorts on one leg and went to the floor with the other. The white dress up shirt was cut and worn. He looked in the mirror and smiled. John had made him a pirate. He stepped out and immediately had a feathered hat placed on his head. Mrs. Hudson clapped and surounded him in a hug. 

"I feel-" he paused. "Young."

"That's the point!" John laughed. "Scottland yard is having a party let's go!" The last thing Sherlock wanted was for anyone to see him dressed this way. "They'll all be dressed up." John seemed to read his mind. 

Hesitantly Sherlock followed him out to the street as John hailed a cab. The ride was slightly awkward as Sherlock had to duck to keep his hat from scraping the top in the cab. 

Sure enough the building they arrived at was decorated with lit up pumpkins and other black and orange decorations. Sitting outside on a dull grey bench was a scarecrow. Sherlock could see the chest moving and falling, John however missed it as he walked up to touch it and was scared by the sudden grabbing. 

Lestrade laughed as he lifted off the cowboy hat that had covered his face. "Good to see you boys."

"You too Ghram." Sherlock smiled. 

"Greg." John corrected. "We are happy to be here." 

Inside they were all dressed up, just as John had said. Anderson was wearing a white sheet, claiming it to be a toga and that he was a Greek god. Sally was a cat. And Molly was a witch. She wore a black dress with black and purple tights underneath. Sherlock had rarely seen her in something as flattering as the costume made her. Lestrade seemed to think the same way as he kept attempting to make small talk with her. 

"Wasn't expecting you here." Anderson walked up to Sherlock. "Thought you'd be too busy for a party."

"Nobody cares what you think Anderson." 

"I think he's looking good." Sally rested her arm on Anderson's shoulder. "Not as good as you though." Clearly she had had a bit too much to drink. 

"Oh really?" Anderson chuckled and the two of them snuck off. 

Sherlock at last made his way over to Molly, cutting Lestrade off midsentence. "You look quite nice." 

"Oh thank you." Her face flushed red. "You too."

"It's just something John made up on short notice."

"I got mine from a shop. Well the dress was anyway. And the tights. And the hat. The shoes were mine though." She attempted to stay calm but her heart was racing at an alarming speed. 

The day began to turn into evening and as Sherlock refrain from too much contact. John however enjoyed lengthy chats with everyone present. "I'm thinking about taking Sherlock trick-or-treating tonight." He told Molly. 

"You should!' She was excited. "I would love to go with but I've got a date."

"Lucky man." John smiled. "Have any bags for candy?"

"I do." She raced back to the counter and grabbed two decent sized orange plastic bags. "Keep his safe." 

"Don't worry." John wrapped Molly in a one armed hug and raced off to his flatmate. 

"John can we leave?" Sherlock asked like a child. 

John extended his arm and gave Sherlock a bag. "Yes we can."

"I'm not going candy begging."

"Trick-or-treating."

"We are grown adults."

"Do I look like I care? Come in Sherlock. For me?"

Sherlock couldn't say no to John. He grabbed a bag and waited a few more minutes before the street lights clicked on, lighting the dimming sky, creating a direction for young trick-or-treaters. He would never admit it, but secretly Sherlock was excited. 

He knew what to do, you'd go up to a house, ring the door bell, hold up your bag, and shout 'trick or treat'. Still, when him and John stood in front of the first door he shook with fear. As he went on, however, he became more accustom to the ways of the children and he even let himself began to have fun. 

Some houses refused to give them treats, claiming they were to old, which to that Sherlock would reply some deduction that would be inappropriate for the time being. The remarks pleased John and made them both feel free and young. 

"Still mad at me?" John asked as they walked the sidewalk. 

"Not at all." Sherlock laughed and examained his half full bag of candy. 

"It's fun isn't it."

"I wouldn't say fun-" he paused. "I am having a good time still." 

"Should we go on?"

"We can start-" Sherlock was frozen mid sentence by the screatching of bats flying around them. "Run!" He shouted. 

The men both ran. They were alone on this streets and the bats seemed to fly after them, as though they were a meal. John dove into a bush while Sherlocks legs would not stop moving and he tripped over his own foot. His knees were scraped and bloody but the bats closed in. He crouched into a fetal possition with his arms around his knees. There was a piercing sting on the left side of his neck and he let out a scream of agony. 

"Sherlock?" John ran to him and forced the bats away. Kneeling besides Sherlock was a young girl, clad all in black, she kept a hood up and sang a light tune in another English. Her song out Sherlock to sleep as she gently rubbed his hair. "Get away." John ordered, feeling that he should be the one to help. "Did one bite him?" He ran his fingers along the two half inch wholes in his neck. 

The girl was no longer there when John turned. She must ran off in fear he though. Using all his strengthb John picked up Sherlock and carried him back to the flat.


	2. Fear

Fear is when you run away,   
Fear is when you’re scared to love someone,   
Fear is when the sky turns grey,   
Fear is when you lose your loved ones,   
Fear is a feeling of danger,   
Fear is when you aren’t brave,   
Fear is the feeling of anger,   
Fear is when you can’t behave,   
Fear is when your shy,   
Fear is like not having devotion,   
Fear is when you’re afraid of saying bye,   
Fear is like a dark blue ocean,   
Fear is like ending you’re career,   
Fear is like being lonely,   
Fear is like not being able to reappear,   
Fear is like feeling ghostly,   
Fear is like an ashtray,   
Fear is like a dark dungeon. 

 

~Gerardo Pena

 

"I'm fine John!" Sherlock protested. 

"You got bit by a bat you could be diseased!" 

"Look John I'm fine." Sherlock got up quick and did a set of jumping jacks. "See. Now leave me be." 

"Let me examine it at least?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and knelt down, giving John full access to his neck. The hole had already begun to heal. They left no signs of infection or drastic blood loss. At most they were simply a pain. 

"Who was that girl?" John asked. 

"What girl?"

"There was a girl helping you."

"Some trick-or-treater I suppose." Sherlock focused on his previous blood tissue. He grabbed a kitchen knife and ran it across his palm, skinning off a freash layer of skin and blood for him to examain. He prepared a slide and slid it under the microscope. "See John." He placed the two slides beside each other and had John peer inside. 

The two slides were identical. "Take a sample from your neck."

Sherlock walked to the mirror and poked the knife at the hole to the left. He took a small slice and put it under the microscope. The blood cells in this sample were puffier and seemed to me multiplying faster. "No difference." He lied, not wanting to worry John. 

"Let me see?" John pushed Sherlock aside. 

"It's just healing." 

"Sherlock I know what healing tissue looks like and this is not it."

"I'm fine John!" Sherlock spoke in a tone that was clear to John that the conversation was over. 

John let Sherlock continue with his lab from the prior night, Sherlock still wore his pirate costume minus the hat, and John wore his zombified uniform. The body paint was beginning to ware off however and he decided to was time for a shower. 

Even in the steam filled bathroom John remained stressed. Sherlock could be hurt, diseased, he could drop dead any moment. And instead of keeping an eye on him, John stood naked under the pulsating water. "Sherlocks fine." He mumbled to himself and finished his shower. 

John was now more like himself, plain pants and a jumper. His hair was a scattered mess but he didn't mind, it was only Sherlock who would see him anyway. "Hey so I was-" he left the bathroom but was greated by silence. "Sherlock!" He ran to his flat mate who was laying, unconscious, on the kitchen floor. 

The cuts on Sherlocks neck flared a deep red. John placed his hand on them but pulled away quick. They burned. Blood seemed to poke it's way out them submerge back in. John had never seen anything like it. He called an ambulance while he did his best to take care of Sherlock. 

John joined the paramedics in the back of the speeding ambulance. They told him Sherlocks vital signs were good, his heart was beating normal and his breathing was average. Still John was afraid as he sat beside Sherlocks seemingly lifeless body. 

Mycroft was at the hospital before them, as though he had been notified as soon as I called the ambulance, and perhaps he had. He raced with me as the hospital workers wheeled his gurney in to the emergency room. 

"What happened." Mycroft ordered rather than questioned as we were forced to wait in the lounge. 

"He just passed out I suppose I was in the-"

"No. To his neck."

"We were out last night and a bat bit him, he wouldn't listen to me about getting it checked out"

"Stubborn." Mycroft crossed his arms. "A bat?"

"Yes, a girl was trying to help him before I got there, I never got her name though."

A faint growl came from deep in Mycroft's voice. "We need to get in." He shouted to the woman at the counter. 

"I can not allow you to sir." She spoke with a light voice. 

"I am Mycroft Holmes I need to be let in."

"You could be the Queen and I would not have clearance to let you in now please sit down and wait."

Mycroft retreated back to John and sat with his arms crossed. His umbrella was tucked between his legs as he took out his phone. John remained alone, wanting no contact with anybody but Sherlock. 

At last a young make nurse appeared. "He has been placed in room 317 if you would like to visit him."

Both men raced to the lift and then proceeded down the hall. "You idiot." Mycroft spoke as soon as he stepped foot in the room. 

"Why is he here?" Sherlock groaned. 

"What did they say was wrong?" John asked, pushing his way past Mycroft. 

"Just passed out from blood loss."

"But there was no blood." 

"I'm just stating what I was told John." He turned his attention to his brother. "And what do you want."

"Just making sure my little brother is safe."

"Caring us not an advantage."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and examained the gause placed around Sherlocks neck. "Looks almost like you got bit by a vampire." He chuckled. 

Sherlock hissed, making all three of them laugh and relax.

"Well now I have a immense fear of bats." John sat in the chair besides Sherlocks bed. 

"Same here." Sherlock propped himself up. 

"I find them kinda cute." The three of them turned to see Molly standing in the doorway. "The little ones anyway." She held in her left hand a styrofoam cup and in her right a pill. "Take this it helps the inflammation."

Sherlock took the pill and almost instantly the stinging pain in his neck faded. He stared at Molly "thanks. Now will you all let me sleep I am quite tired."

"I'll be downstairs when you need me." John said and the three left. 

"What do you suppose is wrong with him?" Mycroft asked Molly on their way down. 

"Loss of blood is the only logical explanation." She was soft spoken. 

"But I saw no blood, after the bite nor after he passed out." John added. 

"He could've cleaned it up." Molly shrugged and was off on her way down to the mortuary.


	3. Night

A dim night,   
A chilly night,   
A quiet night,   
A dark night,   
A cold night,   
A silent night,   
A scary night,   
A desperate night,   
The screaming fight  
and the murderous height,   
It was the night of Fright 

 

~Sayjel Mistry

Sherlock was sent home, told that it was loss of blood that had caused his complications. John was still worried about him. He assumed that Sherlock was diseased or at the very least in pain. Despite Johns hypothesis, Sherlock insisted that he was fine. 

"Sherlock." John called from the kitchen, he had coffee in his hand. There was no response from Sherlock. John was becoming worried. He set the coffee down and stood outside Sherlocks bedroom door. "Sherlock?" 

"Let me sleep." Sherlock mumbled. 

John respected his wishes and went on with his typical day. But as day turned to night, Sherlock still hadn't left his room. "Sherlock?" John shook the locked door knob. "Sherlock open up."

"Go away John."

"Sherlock you're not acting normal." John stood back and kicked the door in. 

The room was dark, lit only by the dim streetlight shining through the window. There was a ball of blankets on the bed but no sign of Sherlock. "This is not funny." John spoke through his teeth. 

"Go away John!" The voice rang from behind the bed. 

"Sherlock?" John stepped around the bed. 

Sherlock was curled against the wall, his skin was as pale as snow and his body was skin and bones. His hands covered his face. "Sherlock?"

"I said go away John!" Sherlock was shaking and crying. "Please." He kept his mouth and eyes covered as he spoke. 

"Sherlock?"

"Go away!" 

John stood up and looked at the shaking man. "Look at me Sherlock." 

He slid his hands off of his face and stared at John with beating red eyes. "Go away John." His eyes were filled with tears. 

"Sherlock what is going on?" John backed away until he hit the wall. 

"Look at me John." Sherlock stood up. His mouth barely opened as he spoke. "I'm a monster." A roaring thunder shook the flat. "Look at me John." Sherlock opened his mouth as the heavy rain began. Inside his mouth were fangs, sharp enough to cut through the thickest meat.

"Sherlock what-?" John was at a loss of words. 

"I'm a monster John" Sherlock walked closer until his hand rested on Johns shoulder. 

John wanted to back up farther but his back was now spread against the wall. "Sherlock?"

"I want you John."

"What?" Sherlock went to speak but thunder covered up his words. "What?"

"I want you to eat John." Sherlock let himself fall to the ground. "But I can't."

"Sherlock if you need to-"

"No John!" Sherlock was I a fit of tears. "Please."

"Sherlock if you need to you can-"

"I can't John. Please leave before I do." Sherlocks eyes lit even brighter, they seamed to be full of rage. 

"Here" John took an army knife from his back pocket and ran the blade across his hand. He let the blood drip to the floor. 

"Get out John." Sherlock screamed as he inched closer to the blood. "Now." He moaned and licked the carpet. 

John knew now that he had gone too far. Sherlock now had a taste of his blood and if he was what John thought he was, he wouldn't be able to control himself. His best friend was now a vampire, a vampire that would surely kill him in time.


	4. Thirst Quenched

. . . Unquenched, unquenchable,  
Around, within, thy heart shall dwell;  
Nor ear can hear nor tongue can tell  
The tortures of that inward hell!  
But first, on earth as vampire sent,  
Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent:  
Then ghastly haunt thy native place,  
And suck the blood of all thy race;  
There from thy daughter, sister, wife,  
At midnight drain the stream of life;  
Yet loathe the banquet which perforce  
Must feed thy livid living corse:  
Thy victims ere they yet expire  
Shall know the demon for their sire,  
As cursing thee, thou cursing them,  
Thy flowers are withered on the stem.  
But one that for thy crime must fall,  
The youngest, most beloved of all,  
Shall bless thee with a father's name —  
That word shall wrap thy heart in flame!  
Yet must thou end thy task, and mark  
Her cheek's last tinge, her eye's last spark,  
And the last glassy glance must view  
Which freezes o'er its lifeless blue;  
Then with unhallowed hand shalt tear  
The tresses of her yellow hair,  
Of which in life a lock when shorn  
Affection's fondest pledge was worn,  
But now is borne away by thee,  
Memorial of thine agony!

~George Gordon Byron

John couldn't bring himself to tell Mycroft. He kept himself within a safe distance from the room where Sherlocks cries were clearly heard. He needed to tell someone, he couldn't keep it to himself. He took out his phone and swiped through the contacts. 

Molly, he would call Molly. It took him a moment after dialing to realize that it was nearly one in the morning, it would be a miracle if Molly answered. "John?" She asked half asleep. 

"Molly, I need you here it's about Sherlock."

There was a slight pause. "I'll be right there." 

John paced the flat anxiously. Mrs Hudson was safe and sound downstairs, Sherlock however could still be heard crying and moaning from the room. Molly was there in an instant. "Where is he?" She asked, throwing her bag to the floor. 

"In his room-" John paused for a moment. "I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

"Trust me John." She walked to the door and tapped it lightly with her knuckles. "Sherlock."

"Go away Molly" He growled. 

"I'm not going anywhere." She spoke softly. 

"Molly please-"

"Say my name one more time and I'm coming in there!"

"Molly please-"

"Alright you asked for it." She fumbled a paper clip into the door and unlocked it. "Stay out John." She ordered and stepped into the room. 

John remained outside, pacing and worried. Sherlock had always been his role model, his hero, his best friend, but now John was afraid of him. He knew he had made a mistake by leaving his blood there, he was almost certain Sherlock would break through that door and kill him. Molly was in there now, and the whimpering had stopped, but that didn't necessaraly mean anything good, Sherlock could've killed her and was now gnawing on her flesh. He shook the thoughts away. John couldn't imagine Sherlock doing anything so harsh, so evil. But then again he could never have imagined him with blood red eyes and fangs. 

This had to be a dream. One long, horrible, miserable dream. He didn't want to believe one minute of it could be true. John people wake up and it would be the morning of October 31st. He would dress up surprise Sherlock, and repeat the day that the dream had been. Minus the bats, the woman, and the monsters. John pinched himself only to be greated by pain and reality. Unfortunately it was not a dream. 

Molly left the room with a smile on her face. "He should be fine." She reassured John. "We talked and got things planned. Just don't tell anybody. We both must keep our mouth shut."

"Can I go in there?" John asked with every nerve of his body shaking. 

"Be careful, but I think it will be alright." She nodded and left. "Be safe John."

John stood outside the door for a moment. "Sherlock?" He asked at last. 

"Come in John."

Sherlock was sitting cross legged on the bed. The spot on the floor had been licked dry. John thought Sherlock must've gotten rug burn on his tongue. "Can I come closer?" He asked hesitantly. 

"Yes John." Sherlock spoke with a weak voice. 

Slowly John sat himself on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well-" John picked his words carefully. "Does it feel different?"

"Than being human?"

John nodded. 

"Yes. But I can't describe it well. It feels cold, and I'm hungry. I'm so hungry."

"Well can I get you anything?"

"No John, I'll be fine."

"What did Molly say?" John was longing to know. 

"She gave me advice, told me she was here for me, and told me if I get too hungry to call her." 

John could tell Sherlock was holding back. "Has she dealt with this more than once?"

"She works in a morgue John she's bound to run into a few of the living dead."

"So you-" Johns voice went hoarse. "Did die?"

"When I was brought to the hospital, I died." 

"But you have a heart beat, blood, lungs-"

"It's not like in the tales John." Sherlock interrupted. "It's not that easy."

"How is it then? Sherlock please tell me so I can help!"

"I don't know yet John." Sherlocks eyes focused on the floor. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Being like this"

"No Sherlock, it's my fault." Tears filled Johns eyes. "I was the one to take you out on some stupid Halloween expedition. 

"But it was fun John."

"But it's my fault you're this hideous monster!"

"I'm hideous?" Sherlock slugged back. 

"I didn't mean it like that." John mentally shot himself. 

"Have I always been hideous?"

"No Sherlock. You aren't now nor have you ever been anything but beautiful."

"John I'm a hungry monster."

"What do you want? Tell me how I can help you please."

"You tasted good John." Sherlocks eyes met Johns and they pleaded for help. 

"Do you want more?"

Sherlock nodded. "But not off the floor. 

"Stay here." Despite his better judgement John made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Next he grabbed a sharp knife from the drawer and set the glass on the table. He was a doctor, he knew just were he could bleed enough to fill the cup without dying. He held the knife just above his inner elbow. Any cut more that one-and-a-half inches could kill him. He held the blade horizontally and let it hover just above the skin. 

Sherlock watched from the door way as John slapped the knife against his arm. Blood began to trickle out. He squeezed his arm and let it drip into the cup. When the blood stopped flowing he slapped the knife to a new spot and created a new gash. He continued this until the glass was three-fourths full. 

John had become dizzy from loss of blood, but he stumbled over to Sherlock and handed him the glass. Sherlock drank it greedily. He pulled the glass away and smiled at John with his lips glazed in blood. "Thank you." He muttered and continued drinking the thick red blood. John made his was over to the couch and let himself fall unconscious onto it.


	5. Reality

sleep my fellow sleep  
your eyes are bulging   
your body is craving for   
sleep my fellow sleep  
your eyelids are wary  
they feel so heavy  
sleep my fellow sleep  
you force them open  
but their doors still closing  
sleep my fellow sleep  
your conscience has departed  
you see nothing but blackness  
sleep my fellow sleep  
your head gains weight  
and drops till you wake  
sleep my fellow sleep  
you rise to your bed  
give in and dropp dead  
you are asleep my fellow asleep 

~Ralph O'Grantson

John opened his eyes, he was still on the couch. He looked down at his arms to find no scars nor blood. "Sherlock?" He asked in fear. 

"I had to carry you home." Sherlock spoke from the kitchen. 

"What?" John looked up to find him focused on an experiment involving a finger and an ear. 

"You passes out while walking last night."

"Where?"

"How much did you drink at the party?"

"Look at me Sherlock." John got up and stumbled closer to Sherlock. 

"Yes?" Sherlock looked up from the table. His eyes were the usual blue and his teeth were perfectly normal. Even his skin shone with a slightly pink completion. 

"Sherlock!" John wrapped his arms around him. Sherlock was frozen in place. John quickly let go and straightened his zombified shirt. "Sorry, I had a nightmare."

"Hmm." Sherlock focused back to the ear. 

"You got bit by a bat, and there was a woman, you died, you came back alive, you were a vampire, you drank my blood from a cup-"

He was cut off by Sherlocks confused stare. "I what?"

"It's weird I know. I'm just glad you're okay."

"I was a vampire?" Sherlock chuckled. "Was I a good lookign vampire?"

"Honestly no. You were thin and pale and scary!"

"Well I can promise I did not get bit by a bat or a woman last night. Although the latter I wouldn't protest."

"Oh god Sherlock." John knew that Sherlock would never say something of that sort, but he shrugged it off, assuming it was a joke to calm him down. 

"It was a dream Jonn."

"I know. A bad one at that."

"You were twisting and turning all night I assumed something was wrong."

"You didn't sleep?"

"I had an ear and a finger I needed."

"What exactly are you doing with the two?"

"Something you wouldn't understand." He dropped he finger into the sink and flipped on the garbage disposal. Blood splattered up against the wall, along with flesh. "Didn't think that would happen.

"By god Sherlock what did you want to happen?"

"It should float?"

"Float?" John walked to the sink expecting to see water. Instead he saw a sink filled to the brim with blood. 

"It's yours John." Sherlock mailed and submerged his head into the blood. 

"Sherlock?" John screamed as he came it the surface. 

"Come with me John." John began to spin as he felt blood flow from his mouth to the floor. Sherlock stood below him, drinking the blood as it fell. "Come with me John!" 

John awoke in a cold sweat. He was laying on the couch and his arm stung in pain. "Come with me John?" Sherlock asked from the doorway. He had his deerstalker on covering his eyes and his scarf around his mouth. 

"Where to?" John stretched, glad it had been only a dream. 

"The morgue."

"Why?" He stood up and flung on his jacket. 

"I need blood and can't have any more of yours right now."

"Sherlock I can give you more."

"No John you need to heal." He paused. "Come with me John?"

John nodded and followed him out the door.


	6. The man

roses are red  
violets are blue  
your face feels cold,  
and your hands do too.

~unknown

John followed Sherlock into the morgue and was greated by a cheerful Molly. Sherlock ran up and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "Thank you." He smiled as he saw the fresh corpse laying on the gurney. 

"It's no problem at all." She smiled and uncovered the body. 

It was a young man, most likely in his early twenties. His hair was long and brown and above his lip was a slight mustache. He was uncovered from the waist up. He was a scrawny and pale boy. John watched as Sherlock bit down into his neck and let the remaining blood seep out. Sherlock then began to lick up the blood and suck it out of the holes. 

John had always assumed at the biting got the blood instantly, but watching Sherlock work for it said otherwise. He couldn't watch for long however, seeing Sherlock maul the young body was a disturbing sight. Even though he was already dead it still struck as wrong to John. 

Molly stood back with her arms crossed and watched Sherlock enjoy his meal. John decided to focus his attention on her rather than the animal like Sherlock. Molly looked tired, her brown eyes were surounded by thin red blood vessels. Similar to the ones surrounding Sherlocks red eyes. Molly was very calm about the monsterours detective. Sure she had been accustom to blood and gore, but her friend, her almost lover being a vampire. If John was in that situation he would be hysterical and he was. 

"Thank you." Sherlock repeated as he wiped his blood stained mouth on a washcloth Molly had set aside. 

"Come by any time." She smiled. "John I know that was hard for you to see-"

"How can you be so calm?" John asked at last. 

"I've been through this." She spoke softly. 

"How? How on earth have you dealt with this-this-this unreal supernatural being?"

"I work in a morgue John. They sneak in, they sneak out-"

"There are vampires in London?" 

"More than you'd expect."

"And Sherlock is one of them?"

"Yes but that doesn't make him any less of the man he was before-"

"He is a blood thirsty monster!"

"I'm right here!" Sherlock shouted. 

"Sorry." John cocked his head to the side then turned back to Molly. "I just don't get it."

"Of course you don't." Sherlock crossed his arms. "You don't-"

"Stop." John looked curious. "Say something."

"What?" 

"Your teeth."

"What about my teeth?"

"They aren't fangs." 

Sherlock pressed his thumb against his top teeth, sure enough they were flat. "How-"

"You aren't starving anymore, fangs only come when you're starving." Molly explained. 

"How do you know?" 

"I've done my research John. As soon as I had my first contact with a vampire I became fascinated."

"Molly-" John paused. "Are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous John!" Sherlock spoke up. "She's as alive as you." 

"Look at her eyes"

"Brown."

"Blood shot like yours!"

"I haven't slept since Sherlock was in the hospital" she explained. "I was worried."

"I'm fine Molly" Sherlock wrapped his arms around her. 

"I know Sherlock. I know."

John rolled his eyes and stepped away from the body and the possible couple. He made himself imagine how this man may have died. It could've been murder, a suicide. He had no marks on him other than the ones from Sherlocks attack. Perhaps he passed in his sleep but he was far too young. A poisoning, but then the blood would not have been safe. A drug overdose? Too much alcohol? "How'd he die?" The words slipped Johns lips. 

"Sherlock?" Molly asked. 

"No the man."

"Suffocation. He hung himself."

Suicide was correct, not the sucide John had expected, but still a suicide. John let Sherlock and Molly finish their chat before heading back to 221B.


	7. Monsters in the morgue

Secrets are a tricky thing  
that rattle in your mind  
They stay there till you tell them  
and torture all mankind  
A secret holds a power  
to leave someone behind  
So pick your consort wisely  
in fear they’ll be unkind   
For once you tell a secret   
your fates become entwined  
You rely on them to keep you sane  
and keep the others blind  
Secrets are a tricky thing  
which often cross the line  
They pollute the brain and haunt your dreams  
no matter how simple their design

~unknown

Sherlock was on a mini rampage. He was shouting and screaming words that John could not comprehend. "Sherlock? Sherlock?" John put his hands on Sherlocks shoulders, immediately calming him down. "What is going on?"

"Mycroft is coming!" His breathing was heavy. 

"Calm down Sherlock."

"He can't know. John he can't know I'm like this!" Sherlock was nearly in tears. "John!"

"I promise he won't know anything. I promise Sherlock."

"My eyes John. My eyes will give it away."

"No they won't." John made his way to the bathroom and dug through the medicine cabinet. He pulled out a box of blue contacts. "I used to want to have blue eyes." He laughed. 

Sherlock stared at John with a questionable look. "And you brought them here?"

"They came in handy didn't they?" 

"I suppose."

Sherlock struggled to put the contacts in, and in the end resulted in John prying his eyes open and forcing them in. In the mirror Sherlock looked like himself only slightly more pale. "Are you full?" John asked. 

"No."

"Are you starving?" 

"No."

"Well we don't want to risk anything." John reached for a knife. 

"I'll be fine John. You still need to heal."

"It us healed Sherlock." He held out his stabbing arm. 

The doorbell rang, inturupting their chat. John shoved the knife back into the drawer as Sherlock ran to great his brother. 

Mycroft entered he upper level of 221B. He seemed only slightly suspicious of his brother. "You look tired."

"I haven't been sleeping well." Which was true, since the transformation Sherlock hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time. 

"Not like you."

"Is too!" Sherlock protested. "I've never-"

"I'm not here for you." He held his arm up to Sherlock and turned his focus to John. "I'm here for you doctor."

"Why me?" He asked causiously. 

"Mind if we have a moment alone?" Mycroft asked Sherlock. He nodded and retreated to the bedroom. 

"Doctor Watson." Mycroft smiled. 

"Mycroft." John nodded. 

"You haven't left my brothers side since the incident?"

"No, of course not."

"And he is now perfectly normal?"

"He's never been normal." His response was greated by a glare from Mycroft. "He's as normal as ever."

"Has he been eating?"

John remembered watching Sherlock dig his teeth into the dead man. "Yes."

"Is he clean?"

"As far as I can tell."

"Has anything changed about him?"

The red eyes, the pale skin, the fangs, the drastic weight loss. "No"

"You're lying doctor."

"He's sick I believe."

"How so?"

"He's just been tired, and thin."

"Doctor I worry about him constantly. He is not being-"

"Is the moment up?" Sherlock asked, afraid that John would reveal his secret. 

"Not heat dear brother" Mycroft spoke and Sherlock shut the door. "He doesn't do that."

"He's lonely Mycroft." John explained. "He just wants attention."

"Sherlock has never wanted attention."

"I need to go see Molly." Sherlock walked out of the room. "Good seeingou brother."

"Sherlock-" John protested but he was already out the door. "Sorry Mycroft I have to go!" John grabbed his coat and raced after him, leaving Mycroft alone in the flat. 

It took John longer than expected to catch up to Sherlock. He hadn't found him until he was entering to morgue. "You can't do that!" John entered to see an appalling sight. 

Both Sherlock hand Molly leaned over the body of a young woman. Her hair was a dark red color and there was a blunt wound on the left side of her head. Molly licked from one side of the neck and Sherlock from the other. Neither noticed John. He watched as they sucked every inch of blood left in the body. At last Molly's eyes shot up and she noticed him. 

"Don't you dare say a word." She growled. One eye was brown and the other the firey red. 

"Molly- you-you-" John stuttered. "You're?"

"Sherlock." Molly smiled. "How about some nice hot blood."

"But he's my friend Molly I can't bite him."

"You can't but the hell inside your head can."

"No Molly I can't-"

"Sherlock it's so warm, so thick, so fresh."

"Molly-" Sherlock stared at John, his eyes full of longing. 

Johns hand rested on the handle. He would make a run for it any minute. 

"Aren't you hungry Sherlock?"

"I'm always hungry."

"You can't help but bite the one you love." She smiled. "I bit you now-"

"You bit him?" John shouted. "That woman was you?"

"The bats helped me distract you. But yes. I was hungry. And I didn't know it was him."

"Molly-"

"Shut up Sherlock. If you won't eat him I will." Her voice was dark and cold. "I am starving for fresh blood."

John had waited long enough, he twisted the door knob and raced out. He ran until he could no longer breathe. He ran wherever his feet brought him as long as it was far away from the monsters in the morgue. He wouldn't stop until he was sure he was gone and free. Nobody was safe anymore. Nobody could be trusted. For all he knew they could all be monsters in disguise.


	8. It's over

do you know the feeling you get when you're hiding,  
when you're alone in the darkness of  
a closet or  
under your bed or  
behind a door or  
in a bush?  
i get that sense- of loneliness, fear, constant held breath-  
every time i wake,  
every time i see people,  
every time i hear whispers,  
every time i feel wandering eyes.  
i feel like i am searched with every step in the open  
for guilt and abnormality  
but i am not.  
or am i?  
i don't know and i want to know  
what people think of me.  
if they hate me,  
if they love me,  
why won't they just come out and tell me  
the honest to god truth!?  
it drives me insane.  
and so i'll just keep hiding.

~unkown 

Sherlock and Molly both were dreadful creatures of the night, and John seemed to be their current target. His feet had led him to a clearing in the midst of a wood. He stopped to catch his breath. His hands rested on his knees and his back was hunched. John found himself deathly afraid. 

He could hear his heart pounding away in his chest. It seemed to beat like mighty drums. His senses heightened, he could hear leaves crunch and twigs snap around him. They were after him, ready to suck him dry. 

It was clear to John now that Molly had been the woman with Sherlock that halloween night. The bats had been merely a distraction, Molly had bit him, Molly had turned him into this hideous beast. The eyes, the one red and one brown, he had noticed on the woman but never took it to heart. 

Molly. This all started because of Molly and her uncontrollable need for human blood. John had trusted her! Asked her for help and accepted her response. Molly had turned him into this hell. 

No, it wasn't Molly's fault. She had been like this for years, and would've feasted weather on Sherlock or any blood filled human. It was Johns fault for forcing Sherlock to trick-or-treat. It was after all a childish game that both could've lived happily without. Johns selfishness had caused the demise of the great Sherlock Holmes. 

John could feel the breath on this neck. The hot breath of death. "I want Sherlock." He muttered, shutting his eyes tight. 

"As you wish." Sherlocks voice whispered in his ear as he positioned his mouth to Johns neck. 

"I love you Sherlock." John sighed before experiencing agonizing pain surging through his body.


End file.
